Take the World by Storm
by alittlebitofcringe
Summary: She's Dominique Weasley, she's nineteen, and she's got a head full of dreams. (DomSander oneshot, in which Dominique is a journalist and can't seem to control her feelings for her coworker.)


_A/N:_ So this is loosely inspired by the fic 'Undercover Heart' by elsinore, I hope you all like it! (This is what I've been doing instead of revising for my exams, good job me!) Also, someone tell me why 'coming of age' isn't a genre on this website - it should be!

* * *

She's got her suitcases packed and her head full of dreams as she slides the key into the lock and enters her new home. The second floor flat in London has wallpaper that's barely clinging to the walls and a tap over the kitchen sink doesn't seem to stop dripping, but it's _home,_ and Dominique Weasley couldn't be happier.

Her mother's confused at first, asking why she doesn't want to share a flat with one of her Hogwarts friends, and won't she be lonely, and is she sure she doesn't want to stay at home for a couple more months? But Dominique is adamant; this is her chance to make something of herself and she won't let it slip by. That's not to say she doesn't meet her friends - they come over every now and then to talk and catch up, and there's many a Friday spent hitting the clubs in London. It's just that Dom doesn't want any of that mixing up with her chance to start over and be the Dominique Weasley _she_ wants to be. Not the ice-queen of hogwarts, nor the adventurous cousin, but _Dominique Weasley,_ the nineteen year old that takes the journalism world by storm.

A week's worth of shopping and a lick of new paint later, the flat feels as good as new. From the pastel blue walls and the haphazard shelving, to the old coffee table scattered with rings from coffee cups and burns from knocked over candles, to the clumsy piles of books and paper that find themselves in every corner of every room, the place is just so delightfully, indescribably _Dom_ (as her younger brother Louis so eloquently puts it when he comes to visit). Far more than her old room ever was, with its pale pink walls from when she shared with Victoire (because even in childhood, Dom knew never to go against what her older sister wanted). Even after covering the walls in hopelessly mismatched posters of Quidditch teams and muggle film stars once Victoire left (much to her mother's chagrin) Dominique's attic bedroom in Shell Cottage has never quite felt like _home_.

It's a Tuesday when she starts her first job. There's something off about starting a new chapter on the second day of the week, but Dom chooses to ignore it, chastising herself for clinging onto such childish notions. No, the new and improved Dom Weasley will not waste her time on whimsical fantasies of an idealistic life. That is better left to the Dom who would spend days and nights upon end watching muggle movies, caught up in the romance of it all and never once suspecting that real life would be any different.

Oh, how things change.

She smooths out her pencil skirt and tucks her hair behind her ears, before making her way into _The_ _Daily Prophet_ 's main building, head held high.

Immediately, her senses are assaulted: the sight of frenzied people dashing about everywhere, the sound of eager chatter, heated debates, and keyboards clacking away, and the underlying smell of freshly brewed coffee that takes Dom all the way back to early mornings spent in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, enjoying steaming mugs of coffee with her friends. She feels a sudden pang of loneliness, an unwelcome visitor amidst her optimism and desire to move on. But then she looks back on the past year: the days spent working at the Leaky Cauldron to save up for a flat - because _no dad_ she was not going to use the family's money, she wanted to stand on her own two feet thank you very much - and the nights spent hunched over parchment, quill moving frantically across the page, drafts of articles and reports surrounding her, ready to be mailed off to newspapers and magazines all over the country. _The Daily Prophet_ had finally contacted her last month, and upon learning that she was the daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley (for she had used a pen name in each of her pieces) they were all too eager to offer her place. Despite her distaste at the blatant favouritism, Dom couldn't turn down a position at one of the most well known newspapers in the country, regardless of its rocky history regarding a certain uncle of hers. And now she is here - ready to start work at said newspaper. The thrill of it all sends her loneliness packing, and Dom takes a deep breath before approaching the receptionist.

"Dominique Weasley here - I'm supposed to start work today?"

And with that, her new life begins.

* * *

At first, she is set the most unappetising pieces - an article on the status of the Goblin-Giant ceasefire in the north (which has been just that - a ceasefire - for over six hundred years), to a report on the financial position of Ollivanders (which has been remarkably stagnant over the past century). However, she takes it all in stride and does the best job she can, because she is Dom and she is no stranger to patience. Yet, every now and then, she yearns for a proper investigative journalism piece - after all, isn't that what she came here to do? But she pushes the doubt away and tells herself that it will all come with time; for now all she has to do is keep writing, and she will get there one day.

 _This doesn't sound like 'taking the journalism world by storm'_. An unwelcome voice in her head says. Dom tries to ignore it, she really does, but a prickle of doubt settles in her stomach.

Then, a year later, she gets her chance, as the senior editor calls her into his office.

"Alright Weasley," he says, rubbing his hands together, "You've shown a lot of promise during your time here, and we've decided to give you a more -" he coughs "-investigative piece."

The only word that breaks through Dom's hazy cloud of delight is _finally_.

But then the fantasy is shattered.

"Of course, you won't be working alone," continues the editor, oblivious to the sinking feeling in Dom's stomach. "We've decided to pair you up with another reporter with around the same level of overall experience, but a bit more on the investigative side of things, to see if you can't help each other out and improve your skillsets."

It's not that Dom's completely _against_ working with other people, it's just that this is her big break, and it feels wrong having to share that with someone else after all the work she's put in. She's not going to lie, it stings that after a year of writing for them, _The Daily Prophet_ still doesn't believe Dom is good enough to write an investigative piece alone. She's spent eighteen years of her life not being good enough already - she doesn't need anymore.

It's then that she hears the door creak open, and sees another figure enter the office.

"Weasley, meet your new partner: Lysander Scamander."

Dominique wants to scream.

She's never had anything particularly against Lysander, but as she looks at him now, blonde hair carelessly ruffled and long limbs leaning on the shelf by the door, she is overcome with an intense feeling of dislike. After all, he is the son of the owner of the Quibbler, Luna Lovegood. Shouldn't he be working with her, instead of a rival firm? Just who does he think he is, barging in on her life, her job?

She realises she's probably being unnecessarily harsh, but she had left Hogwarts with the intention of staring afresh, and old faces reemerging aren't exactly helping in that matter. She's decidedly cold as she follows Lysander to a room (an office? How come he has an office? Is he in a more senior position than her?) and they sit down on chairs opposite each other. Apparently noticing her shock at the office, Lysander clarifies:

"It's because they don't want any of the investigative stories leaked. It used to be just mine, but I guess we're sharing now." He shrugs, clearly not too bothered about the situation, and not realising how he's simply added fuel to Dom's fire.

"So, we haven't seen each other since Hogwarts -"

Dominique cuts him off, albeit a little rudely. "I'm not here for small talk, Scamander. What's the piece?"

And so begins a very hesitant partnership.

* * *

While things are unbearably awkward at first, the pair slowly find themselves slipping into an easy pattern. They're by no means friends, and Dom remains as cold as ever, but she begins to thaw when she finds a cup of coffee on her desk on a particularly bad morning, with a sticky note attached to the front bearing the message " _Drink up, there's no hangover coffee can't cure! - L_ " and a smiley face that may or may not have put a smile on _her_ face.

Their first piece is hardly what one would call groundbreaking, but it's successful enough for Dom and Lysander to be assigned many more pieces as a partnership. They don't celebrate together; instead Dom spends the night at the Leaky Cauldron with Louis and Lily (since of all the Weasley-Potters, they're the ones she's closest to), drinking the night away as they tell her stories of Hogwarts, and she fills them in on her new life. Whenever she mentions Lysander (she can't remember when she started calling him by his first name, but it just seems natural now) she sees her cousins exchange knowing smiles. Dom pointedly ignores the two, knowing that they're making something of nothing. Her and Lysander are barely friends - they don't interact outside work and Dom certainly doesn't find herself with her finger hovering over his number on her phone from time to time, because they're nowhere _near_ close enough for that.

On an unrelated note, Dom will never stop being thankful for how wizardkind has adopted muggle technology into their lives, because (loathe as they once were to admit it) there is a certain magic in the way muggles do things too. Dom has become far too accustomed to the sound of charmed self-typing keyboards tapping away at work, and her phone is now a fresh breath of air when she becomes tired of communication spells and simply doesn't have the energy to apparate or floo. Of course, she still loves and treasures her wand with all her heart, and uses it almost all the time - it's just that she sometimes needs a break from everything, and finds that changing her entire lifestyle is the way to attain said break.

Over the months, her and Lysander fall into an easy rhythm of banter and sly jibes. He brings them both coffee in the morning, while she brings them their mail and requests. Whenever they're out of ideas, they play a game of gobstones, which fires up their competitive streaks and gets the wheels in their brains turning. These competitive streaks turn up more often than not, with each trying to gain the upper hand in every case they investigate. Dom runs into the office claiming she's got them a lead of a lifetime, Lysander says he's one step ahead of her, some good natured verbal sparring takes place and one wins while the other rolls their eyes - the pattern is the same each time, but neither party seems to tire of the monotony. Dom has grown far too used to his lopsided grin when things work out, and the glimmer of victory in his hazel eyes when he wins an argument. They build up an impressive repertoire of articles together, and although they're not a household name yet, they're both getting better at what they do.

 _But that isn't enough._ The voice in Dom's head insists. _You're twenty and you've yet to take the journalism world by storm._ And while the prickle of doubt buries itself deeper in Dom, she does her best to continue with a smile on her face.

* * *

They're sitting down on the floor, playing another round of gobstones in the hopes that one of them will have a brainwave about their latest case involving the Romanian Quidditch team's captain, who's suspected of running an underground smuggling ring. Lysander's leaning against the wall, long limbs stretched out, while she's sitting crosslegged, a pencil holding up her strawberry blonde hair (because let's be honest, pencils and lead are far more convenient than quills and ink will ever be). The sunlight filters in through the window and illuminates the tousled hair on his head - just for a moment, Dom thinks it looks like spun gold in the light. He doesn't notice her staring; instead he's too focused on the game, and when his eyes light up and he grins at her as he gets an idea, all Dom can think is that she'd do anything to see that look on his face again.

He's on his feet in a flash and pulls her up by the hand, dragging her out of the office.

"This is it Dom I've got it I know just where to go!" He babbles almost incoherently, and Dom is too struck by the feeling of her hand in his and how it feels so _right_ , that she can't do anything but smile.

The next thing she knows, she's sprinting through the woods with him, as spells and shouts echo behind them. While Lysander's plan had admittedly been a stroke of genius, it had also been unbelievably reckless, so much that even her cousin James would think twice before attempting it. Although they get the information they need, now everything is at stake, as no head of a smuggling ring would exist without precautions to eliminate people who know too much.

And unfortunately, being an investigative journalist is the _definition_ of knowing too much.

They're both tiring of running, and can't risk a confrontation because just _imagine_ the attack on _The Daily Prophet_ once it gets out that two of its reporters had been caught trespassing on private property. So after what seems like far too long, Lysander grabs Dom and drags her behind a particularly large tree, her back to his stomach and his arms placed protectively around her. They don't even dare to breath, as their pursuers stop nearby once they realise they've lost sight of their prey. All Dom can feel in the moment is Lysander's strong arms wrapped around her and her heart hammering in her chest, whether at the danger of the situation or their proximity to each other, she'll never know. Once the men chasing them leave in a different direction, Lysander gently releases Dom, taking his time as if he doesn't want to let her go, and she's left feeling unusually cold and bare.

They make their way back to _The Daily Prophet_ , and manage to publish the story on time. In order to celebrate their success, Lysander proposes they head out for drinks, and Dom just can't bring herself to say no.

They leave together straight from work, because this isn't a date and she doesn't need to spend ages getting ready - they're just two colleagues celebrating the completion of a difficult assignment. Yet Dom can't help glancing at her reflection in every mirror she passes, and she has to remind herself that this is _Lysander_ , who has seen her on the worst Monday mornings and most exhausting late nights working, so there's really not much point.

They slide into a booth in the Leaky Cauldron and order their drinks. The time that follows turns out to be one of Dom's best, the pair has grown close over a year of working together and manage to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Lysander reveals to her his guilt about leaving his family behind at the Quibbler, while Dom tells him what it's like to spend life in Victoire's shadow. It's surprising, how easily their relationship transcends office hours, and while Dom laughs wholeheartedly at a joke Lysander tells her, she thinks that this is the happiest she's been in a long time.

The winter air nips at their skin as they exit the Leaky Cauldron, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. Dom's just a little bit tipsy _(read: very drunk)_ and Lysander gently wraps his arm around her as she stumbles about all over the place. Since she's hardly sober enough to apparate home on her own, she tells Lysander the address of her flat, and with a _pop!_ they're standing outside the door.

Her hands fumble with the key and eventually Lysander's warm hand comes to help her, finding the key and sliding it into the lock with ease. The door opens and they're left standing at the threshold; as Dom turns around she's startled by how close they are - his eyes are holding hers captive and she can't move and his face is so close to hers…

Even in her drunken state, Dom's terrified of what could happen, so she hastily says a goodbye and hurries into her flat, before she does something she'll regret.

* * *

In the coming weeks, they both continue with their old pattern of work mixed with lighthearted teasing, as if the moment outside Dom's flat never happened. She's content with this, she really is, because a relaxed camaraderie is _safe_ \- it never causes a fluttering in her stomach or an ache in her chest that she can't quite explain. But at times, she can't help but want something _more_. Whether it's a brush of his arm against hers that she can't quite ignore, or that crooked grin that pulls at her heartstrings inexplicably, Lysander seems to have an effect on her she can't escape.

The voice in her head is gleeful.

 _You wanted to be a success, make a name for yourself - but instead you've gone and fallen in love! That wasn't the plan now, was it?_

And indeed it wasn't. So despite the aching in her heart, Dom starts to distance herself from Lysander, because she's Dominique Weasley, the girl who's going to take the journalism world by storm, and she can't let feelings get in the way of that.

* * *

 _The Daily Prophet_ hosts a ball in March to celebrate its two-hundredth anniversary. It's a black tie event, and Dom takes the liberty of dressing up in a silver, floor-length gown that makes her feel like the ice-queen of Hogwarts all over again. The dress shimmers as she moves, and while at first Dom feels rather like a human disco ball, her friends repeatedly assure her that she looks magnificent. Her hair is twirled up in an elegant up-do her mother would be proud of, and she's wearing the diamond necklace Louis bought her for her twentieth birthday (her little brother's already making it big in the potions industry) but Dom can't help but feel _empty_ as she enters the hall in a swirl of sparkling glamour.

She mingles and chats, and even goes for a dance or two with a couple of blokes that are far more interested in her then she is in them (because there's only really one person for Dom, and he's the same one she's pushed away so she can focus on her career). But then, as she's making her way to the side of the room for a moment of peace, she runs into someone and very nearly spills her drink. She raises her head to meet a pair of deep hazel eyes, that widen as they take in the sight of her.

"Merlin Dom," Lysander says, seeming a little bit in awe. "You're beautiful."

And Dom recognises the look in his eyes - it's the same look that Teddy gives Victoire, and all at once Dom just wants to forget about her goals and aspirations and that frustrating voice in her head, and the fact that she hasn't properly spoken to Lysander about anything other than work for _weeks_ , because right now all she wants to do is kiss Lysander Scamander.

But she doesn't _(not yet)_.

Instead, she smiles and tells him thank you, and says something along the lines of how he looks good too, and would he like to dance with her at some point tonight? Admittedly, he looks a little surprised at her sudden change of attitude, but then he snaps out of it and says sure, he'd love to, and before she realises it they've gone back to being Lysander and Dom, laughing and teasing. The butterflies in her stomach are back, but this time Dom doesn't mind.

By the end of the night they've had several dances and several drinks, but this time neither of them are drunk, and Dom is glad because she's got something very important she wants to do. Lysander apparates home with her to drop her off, just like the last time they were together outside work. This time however, she opens the door with minimal difficulty, then turns around to face him, running her hands through her hair (which has unfortunately come free of its up-do) and gathering whatever courage she has within her.

Finally, taking a deep breath she pulls his head down by his tie, before muttering, "I've wanted to do this for a _very_ long time, Scamander," and pressing her lips to his.

And then his hands are around her waist and tangled in her hair, and she's playing with the strands of hair above his neck that feel like silk between her fingers, and he tastes like honey and firewhiskey and dreams and possibilities, and Dom thinks that this is the best decision she's ever made.

And later, when she tells him about her need to make a name for herself in the journalism world, so she can prove herself and finally escape Victoire's shadow, and the nagging voice in her head that never lets her forget it, he looks at her incredulously and says:

"Dom, you're twenty two. Slow down. You've got a lifetime ahead of you to achieve everything you want - stop rushing."

And she realises that the voice inside her head has been doing more harm than good, and decides to silence it completely.

* * *

It's a warm summer's day when Dom returns to the burrow for the first time in three years, and the entire family is sure that they've never seen her so positively _radiant_. She brings Lysander along with her and he gets along with everyone (which is hardly a surprise). The day is spent playing Quidditch and capture the flag, and Dom's perfectly at ease around her family in a way that she hasn't been able to be for a long, long time.

And she's laughing and spinning around in the garden of the Burrow surrounded by the people that mean the most to her, and things are finally crystal clear.

She's Dominique Weasley, she's twenty two and she hasn't taken the journalism world by storm yet and _that's okay_ because she has a whole life ahead of her and she's _just getting started._

* * *

 _A/N:_ I know this is a mess of rambling sentences, so sorry if the there's any grammatical mistakes (in terms of tense and stuff) - it turns out that I love writing in present tense but for some reason I'm terrible at it! This is probably the first piece of writing outside school work that I've ever actually finished, since all my ideas only ever end up half written, but it's a start right? Leave a review and let me know what you think!


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